Sic Transit
by Amara25
Summary: 20 years after the war, and Harry Potter lives a quiet life in a quiet Muggle neighborhood. But this is the Boy Who Lived and Died and Lived Again. How long can dark forces be kept at bay? Mostly Golden Trio and Ginny, I will be staying in canon, with a few flourishes here and there. (Obviously Jo Rowling owns all of this, I'm just a humble fan.)
1. Chapter 1

**Sic transit**

Mr and Mrs Burnham were mostly satisfied with their move to Somerset. Mrs Burnham liked the open skies and the country feel, the possibility of the coastline, and, most importantly, her large garden and newly installed greenhouse. Her friend Elise had told her about starting up an allotment and Mrs Burnham really couldn't wait. Mr Burnham liked the solid Britishness of his new friends, the politics he could dabble in, and the make-up of his neighbourhood. Not too many of those foreigners, with their strange ways. Just good, proper, solid British sense. Which is why he wasn't too happy when his wife struck up a friendship with the Potter woman. Well, Potter himself was all right, aside from an unwillingness to comb his hair and dodgy work stories. You could talk to Potter about football down at the pub, and he kept himself to himself. The wife, though. She certainly had a bit of a temper, and flaming red hair. Irish, probably. _Her_ family certainly was large enough, and loud enough. Dressed funny, too, most of them, and one of the wives was definitely French. Poor Potter, surmised Mr Burnham, the girl probably got her claws into him pretty young, before he could meet someone more solid.

Mrs Burnham found the Potters curious, too, but she found Mrs Potter's thriving garden much too intriguing not to strike up a conversation about what fertilizer she used. Mrs Burnham could excuse most things for the sake of horticulture. Yet, she had to agree with her husband that there was something not quite right about the Potters, but she really couldn't put her finger on it. For one thing, Potter said he was a detective and Mrs Potter said she was a reporter but they never saw her byline in a paper or any of the local magazines, and he definitely wasn't on the local police force. She knew her husband had sworn to keep a close eye on the Potters, in case of any funny business, and as she genuinely liked Mrs Potter, she decided not to tell him about that time she saw Potter's godson's hair change from red to blue before settling on neon green. Besides, it may have been a trick of the light and she wouldn't want Mr Burnham to think she was going mad.

They were quite right that the Potters were no ordinary family. The Potters, you see, were a magical family. Of course, like any ordinary family, they laughed and lived, and fought. It's just that no ordinary family's fights ever ended with one party turning suddenly into a large canary.

"James Sirius Potter! What have you been told about using magic out of school, and especially on your siblings?" yelled Harry Potter with an annoyed look at his eldest son.

"But Dad, I didn't use my wand, I used a Canary Cream Uncle George gave me!"

"That does not make it any better! If your mother finds out your uncle is _giving_ you Wheezes for free..."

"He said it's important for me to start practising early."

Before Harry could bring his son round to the morality of his actions, however, there was a loud _pop_ and the canary turned back to his daughter, who scowled furiously at her brother, swearing revenge.

"All right. No more fighting and no revenge on your brother either Lily! Yes, I _mean it._ Upstairs both of you and get ready or _I will tell your mother_. Ah, that's right, the big guns."

Grumbling at each other , the children headed upstairs, each silently vowing that they would continue the fight later, out of earshot of their parents. Dad, of course, was easy to deal with but everyone knew not to cross Mum.

With a sigh of exasperation (and a hidden chuckle), Harry strolled into the little sitting room down the hall to where his wife, Ginny, sat surrounded by manuscript. Ginny looked up, smiling, to see her messy-haired husband. The years had been kind to Harry, a few wrinkles marring his otherwise boyish face, and so much real happiness lighting it up. Only Ginny knew how much darkness still plagued him, how the nightmares of his past still shook him from time to time, but she was always thankful for their normal life, their children, the absolute humdrum-ness that they lived in. She knew Harry craved the quiet and didn't put up too much of a fight when he insisted that they make their home in an entirely Muggle neighbourhood. Besides, she thought wryly, her father was so delighted by this, they had a hard time making sure he didn't move in with them completely.

Harry dropped into a sofa near his wife picked up a paper, exclaiming, "Why is it that we can't leave James and Lily alone in a room without even the smallest incident?"

"Because, my love of loves, James is fittingly named and Lily feels that her mission in life is giving as good as she gets. Thankfully Al got some strange, unWeasley-ish quiet gene."

"A saint like his father, you mean?" asked Harry, earning a light swat from his wife.

"Careful, now, do we want to be the Boy-Who-Lived-Until-His-Wife-Boiled-Him-In-Oil?"

"Haha. Well, think about it, you might be able to get the gang name She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"

The Potters burst into irreverent laughter, being somewhat thankful that the children, and the wizarding media weren't around to note this exchange. They felt a little ashamed of themselves when their fireplace erupted in green flames and Molly Weasley, the now crinkle lined matriarch of the ever growing Weasley clan, stepped through into the room.

"Oh hello dears. Harry, how was Argentina? Arthur is waiting to hear all the news when you come to dinner tomorrow. I'm afraid he's been doing some reading on the subject, retirement isn't a good thing for an active wizard, I tell you. Oh Ginny, love, I brought you some lemon drizzle cake, it's good to have something in the pantry for company dear and you never seem to have any."

"I have two growing boys, Mum. _And_ my husband. It's a wonder Lily and I manage to find any food in this house."

Laughing, Harry got up to bring the children, while Molly settled in for a quick gossip with her daughter.

"Hermione's away tomorrow for a trip to Greece, something about migrant goblins working in terrible conditions, so I'm keeping Hugo and Rosie for the week. Merlin forbid your brother has to cook and clean for them on his own! Shall I keep your lot too dear? I know it's been a tough month what with your deadline and Harry being in Argentina trailing after those neo-Death Eaters."

"That would be great, Mum, really, but we need to take James into get new robes, and Lily's still got some classes left at the Muggle primary. I can send them over in the evening though, give me some time to write...oh kids, there you are- now you're spending most of the week at the Burrow! So I except good behaviour! Where's Albus?"

"I can't seem to find him, I've looked all over", said Harry frowning.

Ginny caught the glint in James' eye, and his quick look into the corner of the room.

"Where is your brother James? Is he in this room? But why can't we see him? Oh Merlin... _Accio Invisibility Cloak!"_

A light, shimmery material zipped through the air into Ginny's waiting hand, revealing a thin, black haired boy crouched in a corner with a book.

"Albus, how did you get my cloak? No, wait, James how did Albus get my cloak?"

Deciding that honesty was the best policy in front of the outraged face on his maternal parent, James whispered quickly,

"Albus wanted a quiet place to read without being disturbed, thought it a good idea to nick the cloak last night when Dad was unpacking. Sorry."

"Sorry? I use this _for work!_ Honestly James-"

Harry was cut off by his wife's eruption.

"JAMES POTTER! IF YOU EVER MEDDLE WITH YOUR FATHER'S WORK THINGS AGAIN, I WILL GROUND YOU TILL YOUR 17th BIRTHDAY. NO ARGUMENTS. ALBUS, YOU TOO, URGING YOUR BROTHER ON. DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE WHO DID THE ACTUAL STEALING? LILY STOP LAUGHING, IT'S NOT FUNNY! RIGHT, TO GRANDMA'S WITH YOU ALL AND NO QUIDDITCH WITH YOUR COUSINS THIS WEEKEND. I MEAN IT. NO GRANDMA WILL NOT LET YOU OUT OF IT SO DON'T TRY. And if Grandpa does," said Ginny quieting down and looking sternly at her mother, "I'm not above sending my own father a Howler."

Smiling slightly at her daughter in the role of a mother, Molly shepherded the kids to the fireplace, two quiet boys, and a wailing Lily who thought it was unfair that _she_ be grounded too. Suddenly, Ginny stopped them.

"Turn out your pockets James."

"Mum..." but he emptied them anyway, spreading a good amount of product from Weasley's Wheezes out on the floor.

"Did you steal these?"

"No, Uncle George gave them to me when I was in the shop last weekend."

"Oh he did, did he?"

Sensing another volcanic burst, Harry urged his mother in law to take the children away, while Ginny turned around and stomped off into the kitchen muttering under her breath about children and brothers and hexing the entire Weasley clan into infinity. Harry swept up the soot from the fireplace and went in to help his wife with their small dinner. They cooked without magic, both enjoying the time it gave them to chat and laugh. By the time their meal was over, Ginny was much calmer, and Harry a little less worried about their eldest's proclivity for trouble-making. However, as they sat in the living room with their pre-bedtime cocoas, Ginny did take ten minutes to send her brother a most scathing Howler.

The Potters chatted for a while about the book Ginny was writing on the history of female Quidditch players, and soon retired to bed. They fell into it, arms wrapped around each other, lover fashion. Harry smiled happily, marvelling that she was still his. His Ginny, his friend, his lover, still smelling of that sweet flowery thing that she had worn as a teenager. He slipped quickly into sleep.

And awoke with a start, paining surging through every limb in his body. He screamed and fell off the bed, writhing in pain.

"Harry, Harry, what's wrong, is it a nightmare?" But no, Ginny knew it wasn't one of Harry's night terrors, he was shaking in what was unmistakably pain and clutching his forehead in agony.

"Scar. Ginny. Scar. Oh...SCAR." With a scream, Harry passed out in pain, his body still convulsing from the agony he was going through. Ginny grabbed her wand and used it to send out something large and silvery, before turning it on her husband, muttering the incantation for a soothing charm.

His body seized convulsing, the tears drifting down his cheeks the only evidence of the pain he still felt. Ginny sat on the floor by him, shaking. His scar, oh Merlin, his scar was hurting.

Two soft _cracks_ were heard downstairs, and a voice called up the stairs.

"Ginny? Harry?"

"Up here Ron, Hermione. The bedroom."

Hermione and Ron Weasley came swiftly up the stairs, wands raised. At the sight of their best friend on the ground they lowered their hands and looked in askance at Ginny.

"Oh Hermione, I didn't know if I should take him to St Mungo's. He woke up screaming that his scar was hurting."

" His what? Oh Ginny.." said her brother , hugging her. He turned worried eyes to his wife.

Hermione let out a long, steadying breath, and nodded slowly.

"I'll call Kingsley. We have to treat him, but I think not St. Mungo's, it will attract too much attention. It's best if the wizarding world was kept away from the news that Harry Potter's scar is hurting him for the first time in 20 years."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hermione Weasley was not a woman who was often ruffled. Seven years at Hogwarts as Harry Potter's friend, several altercations with Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself, and the struggle she had spear-headed for the rights of non-human magical creatures in the past 20 years had made her the kind of strong woman that upsets other women, because they cannot tell if emotions lurk anywhere beneath the surface. Hermione is still the warm, passionate girl we knew 20 years ago, but when steel enters the soul it rarely leaves. Amongst the few things that could shake her where her family, her best friend, and, of course, the man who was still her husband. Hermione smiled a little as she noted the addition of the 'still' when she thought of Ron. The movement of their love from the passion of youth to the solidity of adults had been a difficult transition, but Hermione had never felt more in love with him than she did now. Especially when she saw the gentle way he held his shaking sister. Shaken as she was, however, now was not the time for Hermione to show how close to throwing up she felt.

"I'll put on some tea," she said, looking at Ron significantly.

He nodded, and, settling Ginny into an armchair, he followed Hermione down to the kitchen. Ron gave out a sigh indicating how little he wanted to hear the real question on Hermione's mind.

"Kingsley will be here any minute. But I need to ask you, was it always this bad when he woke up in pain?" asked Hermione, directing her wand at the kettle and tea things.

"The only time it seemed life threatening was when he dreamed about Dad being attacked by the snake. He threw up. Do you think they have any Calming Draughts? Ginny could use one."

"Ron...Ron... I have to ask this: Can it mean that he's _back_? It can't be though, Harry is no longer a Horcrux, Voldemort killed the Harry-Horcrux, the connection is gone."

"Are you sure the connection did break Hermione? _No one can live while the other survives_...I've never understood that."

"No, the connection is broken. I've researched it completely. Besides, Harry can't speak Parseltongue anymore. It must be something else, something that activated... perhaps the curse of the scar."

"You know you need to spell things out for me, Herm."

"It's still a wound. A cursed wound. Like how I still have trouble in my chest because of Dolohov's curse, or the place where the brains got you still itches sometimes, or how you still remember the pain of the time you were splinched. It must be something like that."

Ron finished his search of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a small blue vial. He tipped it into a tea cup and added a little of the now –ready brew. He waited for Hermione to tut at the amount of potion he put in, but when none came, he realised the level to which her mind was absorbed, analysing every possibility.

 _Crack_. "Sounds like Kingsley is here. I'll go see to Ginny." Ron ran upstairs, preferring not to have a long drawn out discussion with the Minister. Ron always preferred action over stagnant strategising. He didn't have long to wait, however, as the Minister and Hermione came upstairs within five minutes.

"Ginny.. Mrs Potter, I mean, the considered opinion is that it is best not to alert 's but to transport your husband to Hogwarts where the privacy of the infirmary in the summer time can afford us some discretion. We also have expert potioneers and Dark Arts professors to hand." Kingsley looked down softly at Ginny, who stared back at him with something of her usual determination. The Calming Draught had worked its way in.

"Yes, of course, Kingsley. You don't have to call me Mrs Potter . I'm sorry I'm so shaken, there are such possibilities now."

"I know Ginny," said Hermione, "but it's not likely. Let's just get Harry well. I think it also may be good to alert- discretely- Ron's mum and dad. All the children are at the Burrow and there may be a security issue."

"I'll go to the Burrow, and meet you at Hogwarts after. That is, if I can keep mum from following me there," said Ron, and he headed out the door.

"Okay. I will transport Harry, if you, Hermione can bring Ginny. I don't think Apparation at this level of nerves will be safe."

Ginny watched as the Minister levitated her husband's body and carried it out the stairs. She and Hermione followed outside to the Apparation point. A strong sensation of being sucked through a straw later, they found themselves at Hogsmeade, by the lane leading up to the school. The cold night air felt like a tonic.

"It's a wonder I don't have a drinking problem, considering the husband I have," she said to her sister-in-law as they trekked up the road.

"It's a wonder Ron and I aren't addicts of some kind, considering the friend we chose. You know, I really admired you not falling apart when he went missing for 2 weeks in Argentina."

"I fell apart Hermione, I always fall apart. But I grew up with all six brothers, I learnt not to dramatically fall apart. I was pretty close to it once, at the Burrow, then George went off on a mad rant about how irresponsible Harry was to bugger off leaving his wife with three children. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. That seems cruel, now. He was being one of my thick, over protective brothers. I suppose I should have been grateful."

Hermione reached out and held Ginny's hand, and the two walked up the rest of the way in silence. Ginny and Harry had their fights, but their marriage never had the turbulence- the latent turbulence even- of Hermione and Ron's. Looking at Ginny now, Hermione wondered if Harry's stoicness and Ginny's fierce determination meant as many stumbling blocks. Harry was always so private about his fears and feelings, even Hermione and Ron never really knew what went through his mind in that final confrontation with Voldemort. Hermione was sure that the trouble she and Ron went through had made their marriage stronger. _Does Ginny need to tell Harry that she needs him to stay home and not be the hero? Does Harry need to hear that?_ Hermione half-laughed remembering Harry's long ago consternation over Cho's inability to communicate what she needed. Perhaps she should have a quick word with Harry when he was better _. I wonder if Cho married a Muggle because her two wizarding boyfriends were Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory._

They had reached the school and were up the first flight of stairs when they were hailed by Professor McGonagall, now in her final year as Headmistress.

"Hello dears, the Minister is in the infirmary with Professor Rutazibwa. Professor Robard will be here shortly to do some diagnostics."

"Thank you Headmistress. I'm sorry to cut anyone's holiday short."

"Not at all. Would Hogwarts be standing if not for all of you?"

Ginny smiled and took the turn into the infirmary. Harry was laid out on the bed with Professor Rutazibwa swirling her wand around him. Ginny wished she knew her better, but Rutazibwa had gone to wizarding school in South Africa, only moving to England for her further studies. Her skill was tremendous, Ginny knew, and her research on the relationship between cursed amulets and potion restoratives was well respected. _I hope she knows as much about curse scars._ Ginny's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden eruption of green and black sparks from the centre of Harry's scar.

"What is that?" this was Hermione, almost running forward with worry.

"I'm not sure Mrs. Weasley. There is...what I can best call an infection in the scar, something of a reactivation of the dark magic in a way. I cannot tell you for sure. The magical imprint is not ..it doesn't feel documented. It feels old, an old infection."

"Is it possible for a curse to reactivate?" Ginny placed her hand on her husband's still form, willing the tears away.

Madam Rutazibwa stilled the sparks and magically contained them for Professor Robard to analyze before replying. "It is not often the case, but, dark magic leaves traces in the blood, the heart, and the mind. For it to trigger itself indicates that the caster had intimate knowledge of the original spell, of the victim, and had been able to infect – or re-infect- all three elements."

"The scar was received as part of the Killing Curse, perhaps someone tried to kill Harry-"

"Everyone is trying to kill Harry."

"You mistake me, . This scar is not from a killing curse, it never was originally, it is from darker magic."

"Horcrux. My husband was a Horcrux, Voldemort made him one, once."

Still silence entered the room. Outside of Ginny, Ron and Hermione no one was privy to that piece of information regarding Voldemort's Horcruxes. The Potions professor bit her lip and nodded with an odd look in her eyes.

"This answers most of my questions then. Ah, Gaspar, there you are. I've trapped the emission for you, and you should probably know that Voldemort had made into a Horcrux."

The DADA professor turned heavy brows toward Ginny.

"A living being made into a Horcrux? That is how Potter defeated him so easily, isn't it? And the connection is no more? But the cursed trace could remain, yes, yes? How very interesting... one of a kind, it must be..."

Robard swooped over Harry, cupping the frozen sparks into his hand and looking at them with an expression of delight and intrigue. On an academic level, he was itching to put Potter through some analysis, but catching sight of 's now furious glare he desisted and turned his wand to the matter at hand. Ginny and Hermione settled on the bed next to Harry and waited, Kingsley standing by Ginny sympathetically. Robard swirled his wand and muttered a series of incantations before turning the sparks into 4 separate columns of smoke. The smoke reminded Ginny of something Dumbledore had done the night her father was attacked by Voldemort's snake. And so did the next few minutes. Robard tapped each column twice, and the smoke shifted and shaped itself variously. The first column appeared to be a bright gold wand, the second a swirling black mass, third a stag, and the fourth a cobra, hood wide and ready to strike.

"And yet, in essence divided. You seem to have heard those words before . Your husband has been looked at before by Dumbledore, perhaps?" Robard dismissed the smoke and after a quick and silent conference with his colleague said, "My news will be difficult for you. As far as I can maintain, a battle rages within him. A battle he did not altogether win. A curse of such darkness- and a Horcrux in a living being is a curse- leaves more than traces, it has, I think infected the blood, and the heart. It now travels to the mind, and has had 20 years to take a hold of the mind, and of the mind not of a boy but of a man with a long past, and we cannot know what will awake when does. We shall have to hope that the good will win. What we need to know, now, is what event or person caused this infection to catalyse in this manner as I am sure you will agree Minister. Please do not mind my forthrightness Mrs. Potter; it is good for you to know my conclusion."

Ginny barely heard him. Ginny could not feel her body any more. She rose, Hermione closely following, and walked out of the infirmary. She needed air, or water or something, something to stop her crying, stop her from falling apart. _Did Harry know? Had he ever felt the darkness was still within him? Were those the nightmares he wouldn't speak about? Damn him! Why do I feel like I am sometimes married to a stranger? He knew, Oh Merlin, he has known all along, Harry knows his demons so well , he could not have known_. _I wonder if he told Hermione._ Ginny fiercely moved in front of her sister in law as the petty thought crowded her brain. She mustn't think too hard, it was just the stress. She took a deep, steadying breath, and when she opened her eyes, saw her father rushing up the stairs with Ron. Her will gave way, and, like a frightened child clung to him sobbing hysterically.


End file.
